


Ringing In The New Era

by YesVirginia



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU: Successful Rebellion, Alien Reproduction, Alien anatomy, Male Pregnancy, Multi, Overstimulation, Oviposition, helmsman!Sollux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:02:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1874085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YesVirginia/pseuds/YesVirginia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here are a few impossible things: A successful rebellion organized and executed by a bunch of kids standing against an ancient Empire. Surviving your own existence for nearly ten sweeps. Helming a ship without losing your legs or your personality. Having offspring without a Mother Grub.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ringing In The New Era

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laylah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/gifts).



> Consent note: The decision to go through with the fertilization and pregnancy is made unilaterally, but there's some pressure that makes it necessary to make it quickly (because waiting too long would render the eggs unviable).

The first ten times you disengaged, you had to do it under the concerned eyes of FF and KK, and it took you longer than you want to think about to get them out of your hair. Derigging is a delicate process, and a delicate state of mind, but it doesn't become any easier with a couple of quadrantmates scrutinizing you as if you're likely to explode (Karkat thought) or spontaneously become robotic (Feferi still fears).

This time you're alone in the act of stepping from one frame of mind to another, getting your legs under you and becoming re-acquainted with reality, and that's how you like it. But once you're standing up straight, you go look for the other components of your clade in the extensive sprawl of living quarters that's hilariously dubbed the "Administrative Wing".

A few labyrinthian rooms and corridors later you find both of them in what's officially a communal recreation area, but which honesty demands you call the Pailing Room. But pailing definitely isn't what they're doing right now.

Feferi is sitting on a mound of pillows as stiffly as she sits her throne, her hands on her lap, balled into fists. Karkat is standing in front of her like he's trying to hunch and tower at the same time. Neither of them takes any notice of you, not even when you take a few helm-wobbly steps into the middle of the room.

"I'm willing to wait on you, but my body isn't doing this forebber. We either reach a decision, or it stops being an issue.

Someone else might get the idea that they're witnessing the second political coup in as many sweeps from their hostile stance, but you're not that person. This is just what jamming looks like for the matter-antimatter collision of this moiraillegiance.

"Reminding me of the biological deadline here is making me so much more reasonable!" Karkat is saying, "You want to know the truth? The whole truth? I'm afraid because I want it to happen. And I can't want things, because that's setting myself up as a sucker who gets screwed by the universe. I don't know if we can get away with this."

Feferi makes a plosive noise of bafflement. "Get away with it? Are you searious? Look at this!" She plucks her tiara off her head and brandishes it at Karkat like a weapon, so quickly he takes a step back. "Do you think I'm wearing this to keep my hair out of my face? Do you think I sit on the throne because it's so comfortable? We're already getting away with it! I'm the Empress, you're my viceroy, and Sollux is-"

"Standing right here and listening to you," you offer up. Your little wave might be overdoing it, but it's worth it for Feferi's expression.

Her head snaps around to you like it's on a rubber band, and the tiara goes flying in the opposite direction. You see her gills flare as she inhales, and then says with oddly manic brightness, “Sollux, it's so good of you to join us!”

You didn't think she'd be this pleased to see you. You're the nicest guy ever, walking in on your quadmates having an incomprehensible arguement.

“Hi FF. Mind explaining what's going on here? Small wordth please, I'm still like three quarterth ship.”

Karkat scrubs his hands over his face. You notice for the first time that he's standing there like...well, 'like he has a stick up his ass' is actually a fair assessment. His mouth works like he's trying to chew up his words before saying them.

“We're both on a fertile cycle,” is the result of that, and though each of the words make perfect sense on their own, in combination they just about knock you on your ass. You give up on standing there like the surplus rotation device in deference to your knees (still wobbling), and sit down on the edge of the extensive pillow territory. You can't take this standing up.

This is a medical breakthrough, the first step to undoing the damage of centuries, and you're part of the triad at the center of it. That makes it personal, too, because it's your bodies the hypothesis is being proven on, your bodies that underwent the treatments to make this possible. You find yourself grinning with more enthusiasm than you counted on, glancing back and forth between them.

“Holy shit, but that's great, that means the treatments are working, we got it right. This is really big.”

“This should be impossible,” Karkat says (frightened? wondering?), “this used to be impossible.” He finally sits down, but only with a great deal of drama, the last one standing on a battlefield of bodily indignities and serendipitous quadrant stew. Threshies, honestly. You watch the way he tries to suppress an expression of relief with interest. His jaw-clenched stubbornness never fails to rile you up, not even when your body is still at odds with you.

Sometimes getting him pissed snaps him out of the self-doubt spiral, and you practically have a certificate in the former. You turn up the insolence of your grin, your hands gesturing at shoulder height as if they are only tenuously related to you, “Right? It could be our tagline: Six impothible things before duskmeal!”

Karkat sighs melodramatically and lets his head drop in Feferi's lap. She takes it as an opportunity to start sorting out his hair with her fingers, which is one hell of a job. His concilatory reflex kicks in fast, and he starts purring, scandalously loud. You want to be disgusted on his behalf for such an egregious display of pale affection, but the fluid movement of FF's fingers, sweet but businesslike, makes your bloodpusher wobble in your chest.

Here are a few impossible things: A successful rebellion organized and executed by a bunch of kids standing against an ancient Empire. Surviving your own existence for nearly ten sweeps. Helming a ship without losing your legs or your personality. Having offspring without a Mother Grub. Someone like you having quadrantmates like them.

Karkat, blessed be his ridiculous melodrama, begins lecturing you with eyes closed. It gives you a good look at the bruisy redness around his eyes that speaks of sleep deprivation, “Not that I don't prefer your newfound optimism to the endless woe-is-me parade we had to endure before, because nothing could be more annoying than that, but it's kind of weirding me out.”

“It's weirding you out? What, that I'm too happy?” That's kind of hilarious. It's been a long time since anyone accused you of that. Manic doesn't count -- no one would accuse you of being happy during an upswing.  'Gibbering jackass' is the phrase most people use. 

“It might be subverting a couple of malevolent prophecies that did it. And hey, the new management isn't bad, either,” you give FF a frankly kind of embarrassing wink, and she blows you back a kiss that's just as soppy.

“And then the whole Damoclean fusion bomb deal is gone, you know? I don't live in fear of getting helmed anymore becauthe that ship has well and truly sailed. The ship in this analogy being me,” you go one better, complete with a truly cheesy eyebrow waggle.

Feferi freezes in a way that has nothing to do with bad puns. The sick sinking feeling of _I fucked up_ is there immediately, and uncomfortably familiar, but as much as her hurt expression makes you twinge with sympathy, you can't help the additional twinge of resentment – of course her paranoid fear of genetic determinism takes precedence over anything you feel.

“I'm sorry, that wath fucked up,” you say, feeling a little awful about it, hating that you do, “I'll cut the technical jargon.”

She reaches out over Karkat's head to touch your face, her skin rough-cool and archaically soothing.

You rub your cheek against her palm and kind of treasure look she gives you, the bow of her lips and roundness of her eyes. It makes you feel like a cherished pet, in a secret sticky corner of your Id. Like a useful commodity. All systems set to sub.

“Do I need to worry about you?” she asks, her voice treading careful.

You shake your head, “No, fuck no. I'll thay it two thousand times, I'll broadcast it on every screen in the whole damn fleet. You didn't take my mind. You didn't take my legs. But you gave me the stars. Don't feel sorry for me.”

Her look of relief breaks you bloodpusher, and she comes onto you like an ocean wave, a gentle rush that you encourage by pulling her closer, and then the breakers arrive and you lose track of up and down for a while. This is what you know about drinking seawater: every sip only makes you thirstier.

The moment is killed pretty effectively when you realize that Karkat is still scrunched up between you, like a pissed-off prawn. You dissolve into shakes of mirth at the sight of his face, Feferi just smooshes his cheeks and somehow that works. He mimes a gagging noise, but you know he doesn't mean it like that.

“You're going to give me diabetes,” he says, and then, “I've made up my mind. I'll do it if you will.”

Feferi makes a noise that's audible only to dolphins and people with augmented aurals. Your teeth hurt.

Here is a thing about gestation: one cannot be donor and carrier at the same time. That's the facts. The reality is something even clearer. Your pulse jumps to double speed, and the ramifications run up and down in your mind. They're both ready to implant. You're the best candidate for the job. The thought of offspring is a staggering hypothesis that you want to test. You're going to be observer and subject at the same time.

They're going to breed you, you think with animal clarity, and suddenly the situation is real and present _in your pants_. Holy shit, Captor, say something that isn't incoherent demands to be fucked. You swallow.

“But if you're laying, and he's laying, then who's flying the plane?” Nailed it.

Karkat slaps your thigh, looking mortified, but Feferi just giggles, “I happen to know this ace pilot guy, and I wonder if he'd be up for the task?”

The first impulse is Oh fuck yes! You swallow your eagerness, shape the words into something a little less embarrassing before they burst out, and take a fortifying breath, “Up for it? I can do better than just that. I'm made for it.”

Your own bluntness scandalizes you. Made for it. It makes you tremble at a high frequency of anticipation, sick and giddy with the sudden onrush of lust. Your split-up divided mutant body is good for something, you're useful, you're right. Little aspirative chirrs are coming from your thorax, and there should be a warning light flashing somewhere, that's how turned on you are.

“Holy shit,” Karkat says, probably not for the first time, which provokes a spate of near-hysterical laughter from you. He sounds genuinely impressed, if maybe a bit weirded out, “You're saying you want both of us to? At the same time?”

You meet his faltering with a grin, and a wink at Feferi, whose chin is resting on her hands, her face a picture of pleasant surprise. Bless her. 

“That's what I'm saying, KK. Put your viable genetic packages all up in my beneficial mutation so I can incubate them.”

Feferi cracks up into bubbly laughter, nearly falling on top of Karkat in her mirth, and when she rights herself her hands are positioned very interestingly on your hips. You're sure that was nothing but an accident. 

“Stop it with the nerd talk, Sollux. Tell us you want us to stuff our eggs into your nooks.”

Her words are punctuated by all ten of her fingers digging into your hips, a little shock of pleasant pain and possession. Whatever you were going to say turns into a moan, which she only requites with more laughter. Evil. Horrible. Entirely lovely.

“I do,” you rush out, breathless, helplessly trying to rock your hips against both of them at the same time, “I want your eggs in every corner of my weird anatomy, I wanna get stuffed, I want you to,” you trip over the unfamiliar words and they hit your backbrain like an electric shock, “I want you to knock me up.”

Karkat slips out from between you in an unforeseen sneaky maneuver. Without the support of his body you execute an inelegant faceplant right between FF's rumble spheres, which is the happy kind of accident. Your hands find her shoulders and cling, seeking support, while Karkat slides in behind you until it's both of them holding you up, for which your uncertain muscles are duly grateful.

“If you phrase it like that I won't say no. You know what you're signing up for, Captor? I'm going to put something in you, and it won't be comfortable, and it's going to be alive.”

You hiss through your teeth, pleasantly pissed off by his weird gloating, wondering about the undertone of something tender. Your back fits comfortably against his chest, and between him and FF you're right where you belong, “Your motiveth are clear, Vantas. You want to put tangible proof of how much you hate me right in my body? Sweet. I'm signing up for it in fucking triplicate, doeth that tell you how serious I am?”

If breaking your numeral theme isn't enough to convince him, you rub back against him with a shameless wiggle of your hips. It feels so damn good, to be needy without apology, the hunger you're feeling with an entirely new meaning. You look down, inspecting your own body like a voyeur, getting only more riled up by the blatant visible evidence of your arousal. Your bulges are so far unsheathed and so swollen that you can see every coil and ridge through the tight material of your flightsuit. It's amazingly obscene.

“You'll like it?” Feferi's voice has gone uncanny, abyssal, and her hands are wonderfully cold between your thighs, "Being full of life? I know you can do it, you're going to be great, Sollux, oh,” her breathy encouragement is punctuated by her hands tracing the outline of your bulges, dipping lower to rub over the proximal opening of your nook through a layer of vinyl.

Somewhere behind you, Karkat is gracelessly struggling out of his uniform. You almost fall back as he does, rendered loose-limbed by the ache of anticipation, producing a little groan of encouragement when FF flips up her skirt and her bulge slides out all at once, the frills magenta-flushed and the tip wider, more blunted than usual. There's a little bump just above her sheath, barely visible against the roundness of her form. The sight of it gets you lightheaded, you're going to look like that except more so.

You're about to voice a complaint concerning the fact that you're still wearing pants when KK takes the initiative and grabs two handfuls of slippery fabric, tearing your flightsuit to pieces across your crotch. The end result looks like thigh-high stockings and feels somehow a lot dirtier than simply being naked would have.

Throwing your legs over Karkat's places you in his lap. Your bulges are tying themselves into knots between your thighs, making an obscene mess. You try to laugh, but it comes out as nothing more than a gasp as Karkat's bulge slips between your legs from behind, the tip bigger than what you're used to from him as it prods at the distal opening of your nook (and he was always plenty big). His temperature is feverish as he feeds his length into your grasping nook inch by inch until the heat feels like it reaches your spine and like you can feel him twitching and uncoiling somewhere below your ribs. You're melting around him.

Feferi keeps your face cupped in her hands through all this, whispering oddly calming eldritch nonsense at you while you get comfortable. Her soft murmurs and gentle touch are a contrast to Karkat's hard breathing, his jerky movements as he tries to hold himself back, and together they're absolutely entrancing. You droop your head forward and lick at the salt taste of Feferi's skin, right below her fluttery gill openings, mumbling disjointed encouragement right back at her against the soft twitch of the membrane.

She moans, a happy little sound, and presses herself up against you so there's skin everywhere, and then her bulge slips below yours and into your proximal entrance, squirming up until it's in you alongside Karkat's. The hot fullness and smooth cold break your brain in two. They hold hands around your body, start to establish a rhythm, pulling out while the other pushes in, putting shifting slide and pressure on the walls of your canals. You clench down on purpose at first, trying to help them along, but soon enough the clutch and flutter of your nooks is out of your control, tied to the rapid pumping of your heart. The sensation skirts the edge of pain, driving you into a state where every inch you take only leaves you hungrier, rocking your hips back and forth with wet noises as you try to take both of them as deep as your body will allow.

You see everything in fragments and high contrast. Feferi's hair brushing her shoulders, her eyes snapping open suddenly, and a moment afterwards you know why. Her bulge stiffens inside you, so deep that the tip touches the opening to one genetic sac. It swells until there's tears leaking from the corners of your eyes from the fullness of it, in strange convulsive ripples that have you seeing white. You feel the round shape of the egg pressing up against your nook, meeting resistance at first from how tight you already are, and the pain/relief when it finally pops in makes you cry out and clutch at her shoulders.

Something in you clenches and relaxes, an automatic reflex that draws the sphere deeper into you with each repetition, your body opening itself, ready for it. Feferi's cries grow in volume as it travels up the length of her bulge, but when it slides out the tip the only noise she makes is a quiet gasp. You barely register it. The sensation of the egg slipping past the mouth of your genetic bladder is like a time-lapse orgasm that leaves you barely satisfied, even more painfully aroused than before. The miniature weight settles inside of you, a constant slight pressure, nothing like discomfort yet. Thinking about what it means, what you're doing here, makes your bulges pulse and twitch painfully against your stomach. Life, you think giddily. Filling up with life.

The grip of two hands around your hips interrupts you. Karkat is grunting behind you, unattractive animal noises that you enjoy shamelessly. You roll the thought around in your head, _I'm being bred_ , and when Karkat's first egg starts sliding up inside his bulge your nook is clenching and trembling so eagerly you almost suck it in all at once. By the time it's rolled up all the way to your second genetic chamber, Feferi is quivering in front you again, her bulge lashing around inside of you as her body prepares to implant another egg in you. The rapid pace is good for your hungry nooks, but also kind of terrifying for everything else: If it keeps going like that, you think you're going to black out. And possibly die from coming too hard.

“H-how many are there?” you stutter, not sure if you're directing the question at him or her or at some morbid deity who kept you alive long enough for you to end up getting fucked to death.

“I don't know! Sorry!” Feferi squeaks. You're so flushed for her you can't see straight. “I didn't have the oppoartunaty to count them!” The rest dissolves into giddy moaning and she presses herself to you, hair clinging to her face.

By your count that's two of hers and one of his, and you feel the foreign presences in your body like little orbs of different temperature. Her cold and his heat are taking over everything, around you and inside, you're full to overflowing with their bulges flexing against each other through the membrane of your nook. Those nerves have given up on reporting coherently, are now reduced to lighting up your brain in static every time one of you moves, which is often.

You find out that the implanting process is fits and starts. There's a pause for a good long while where nothing's coming, which you use to fuck yourself vigorously on their bulges, because once you started you can't possibly stop, can't stand to lose the fullness and the friction. They both feel so amazing, soothing and aggravating at turns, and your hands flitter around nervously, landing on his thigh or her breast, always touching, drinking in their presence, proof of their existence crammed in you to the hilt.

Then they groan in stereo, two pairs of hands grabbing at you, and the pitch feelings and the flushed are two waves that amplify each other and drown everything else out. Somehow you're all holding hands with each other, clinging for support while two eggs are sliding into you at once, agonizingly slow, two spherical pressures that seem impossibly big, working their way up until your concentration is reduced to the fullness of your nook, the reflexive flutter of muscles and the dripping wetness covering your thighs. There's nothing else important right now, nothing except for the pressure building and the slow climb towards relief. Which, when it comes, is intense enough to root a lightning bolt right behind the base of your bulge.

For a moment you teeter on the edge of climax but the sensation builds to hard and too fast, the rush of your pulse leaves only ache and prickling discomfort and a desperate need to get off. Then another long pause for you to catch your breath, leaving you on a plateau of sensation that you can't possibly stand but which you never want to stop.

Karkat makes it go faster somehow, you feel it in the way his stomach is pressed against your back. He holds on to your waist and implants you with eggs number six and seven, bouncing you up and down in his lap until you're sobbing with the indignity of it and loving every moment.

After that, you sort of lose count. Numbers become vanishingly unimportant next to the full, formless pressure of shifting temperature that hijacks all your senses, pushes you to the brink while the overstimulation never quite lets you reach it. It's all a disjointed crush and flow of bodies, speechless urgency and the sense of being so alive it hurts, so alive that you're glowing with it, so much that it overflows into sound.

You register Karkat biting down on your shoulder like he wants to devour you. At one point your hands are tangled in Feferi's hair and she keeps saying “Oh! Yes!” as you tug at it. The weight in your genetic chambers is undeniable now, heavy and hard, keeps you on in the edge without letting you fall off. In the rhythm of both of them fucking you until you come apart at the seams there's the pattern of pressure-relief that doesn't ever seem to end, both of them filling you up with pieces of themselves that will mix up with pieces of you and end up alive and that's terrifying, transcendant, you want to laugh and cry about it but it makes you shake with lust, too. You end up with your head thrown against Karkat's shoulder, one hand tangled with Feferi's and the other one gripping at your bulge, wrapping the wet squirmy mess in your fist while the last of many eggs fill the absolutely last space left in you.

There's another plateau of suspense, a long moment where you're not quite able to come even though you're crackling with overstimulation, you feel the internal stirrings as the broods settle, knowing with the last shred of clarity that they're being fertilized right now, this is it, this is really happening, and the reality hits you like lightning from your brain all the way down to your feet. You hear your own voice loud in your ears and genetic material is gushing between your fingers and everything inside of you is so sweet and golden that it hurts, for a few seconds that are almost forever, nothing but liquid light and the stirrings of life in you. Everything after that is low-frequency aftershocks and bodies rearranging themselves, and nothing else for a while.

Absurdly, the first coherent thought you have is _we ruined every single pillow_. The rest of it is kind of too much to take into your head all at once. The first sensible thought you have is that you'll need to tweak the life support you get in the helm. Thinking about what you'll have to do to adjust, the responsibility of it, is calming. You squirm until you find a dry spot on the pillow pile, too exhausted to be mortified. You'll have time for that later.

Feferi brushes sweat-sticky hair from your forehead and presses her lips to it, cool as a blessing. 

"You were great," she says, and Karkat throws his arm over you from behind, his palm a wam comfort over the swell in your stomach.

And just like that, a new era is there.


End file.
